


Bonus: Daisy and Doctor Strange

by wheel_pen



Series: Iron Man AU [48]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Daisy (wheel_pen), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 10:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: Doctor Strange finds an unusual person on his doorstep one day, returning some books of magic she had borrowed.





	Bonus: Daisy and Doctor Strange

**Author's Note:**

> Daisy is my original character; she first appeared in my Vampire Diaries stories, but pops up in other places for her own mysterious reasons. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

The doorbell rang, and Dr. Strange used a standard surveillance spell to check through the peephole who it was. As the Sorcerer Supreme at the New York Sanctum, his visitors tended to be rare and special, or else solicitors undeterred by the low-level avoidance spell around the door.

This visitor did not seem like a salesperson—female, twentyish, dark skin, casual clothing, with a chic messenger bag over her shoulder and no obvious signs of nervousness or impatience. Nothing came up in his database as a red flag. Or any flag.

He opened the door, or appeared to, his projection wearing an expensive suit. “Hello?” he greeted, curious but not too friendly.

She smiled. “Hello. So you’re the new Sorcerer Supreme,” she observed, to his surprise. “Doctor Strange, isn’t it?”

“How do you know that?” he asked with a frown, trying some of his higher-level scanning spells.

“I’m returning some books I borrowed from the library,” she said by way of reply, indicating her bag, which did not seem very full or heavy. “I also brought a few copies to donate.”

Well, this didn’t make any sense, but Dr. Strange had gotten used to that. He gestured for her to enter and then his projection dissolved as he appeared for real, in full kit, with his cloak swirling dramatically behind him. He liked making an entrance.

The woman did not seem overly impressed. “Ah, there you are,” she perceived. “Oh, you’ve got the Cloak of Levitation. Hey, Cloak.” She held up her hand and a corner of the cape high-fived her in greeting. Stephen rolled his eyes at what he felt was _slightly_ disloyal behavior from his own clothing, but it did seem to cement her familiarity with the place.

“And you are?” he prompted.

“Daisy,” she replied simply, shaking his hand. He could not deduce anything about her from the contact—she might have been an ordinary human, except for her confidence in the Sanctum, which alone made her unusual, whatever her magical résumé.

She gazed around the foyer. “You’ve redecorated,” she noted. “It looks nice. A little more high-end than Daniel.”

“Were you well-acquainted?” he probed, of the previous Sanctum master, as he mentally leafed through the house diaries for any further clues.

“Not well, no,” Daisy admitted. “He was a little straight-laced for me.” She pinned Stephen with her dark, liquid gaze. “You seem like a bit more of a rebel to me,” she judged, glancing up and down him in a way that was not quite flirtatious, more like an appraiser at an antique store. “An unlikely hero.”

She seemed to mean this as a compliment. “Sorry, _who_ are you again?” Stephen persisted. One thing he had learned was that he still had a lot to learn, and he was much better about asking questions now, instead of just pretending like he already knew everything.

“Daisy,” she repeated, her coy smile suggesting she knew this wasn’t very helpful. “I’ve come to return some books.”

Stephen pinched space slightly, like scrunching up a napkin, and zipped them to the house library instantaneously. This was slightly mean of him, as it often made people who were unused to it stagger, disoriented. Daisy did not stagger, not even a millimeter. Stephen suspected she might have used some kind of magical stabilizing force, but it dissipated immediately with no residue.

“Thank you,” she said instead, as though he’d merely accompanied her on the elevator. She went to the table in the center of the room and began unloading books from her bag, far more than could possibly have fit.

“Pocket universe?” Stephen guessed. Those were so convenient for packing.

“An oldie but a goodie,” she confirmed.

Stephen took a look at some of the books she had unveiled. “Ah, _Peverell’s Sourcebook, Volume 1_ ,” he noted with satisfaction. “I wondered where that had gotten to.” When you found something labeled ‘Volume 2,’ you naturally deduced there had been a previous volume.

“And, I have brought a copy of _Volume 3_ ,” Daisy announced, indicating a separate stack of books whose bindings were new. “I found it in a monastery archive in Romania. Naturally they preferred to keep the original, but I have a couple of paper versions, as well as digital.” She handed him a USB key. “Photos of the pages, and also a typeset version, because that old handwriting can be hard to read. And now you can do a keyword search on your Kindle.” Stephen stood blinking at her. “Sorry, are you a Nook guy?” she guessed.

“Are you some kind of librarian? Like Wong?” he tried. That would make the most sense of anything so far.

“No,” Daisy replied, dashing his hopes. “Just a collector. It’s a hobby. I had an informal arrangement with the Ancient One to bring copies of any magic-related books I found for the library at Kamar-Taj. In exchange I was allowed to borrow works I didn’t have.”

The Ancient One was still a bit of a sore point for Stephen. So many secrets, so many complexities—so much he still didn’t understand about her. Par for the course, really. “You heard she had—“ ‘Passed away’ seemed an inaccurate euphemism. “In the battle with Kaecilius and Dormammu.”

“Yes,” Daisy agreed soberly, in that tone you used when you wanted to show respect for someone else’s strong feelings, without necessarily sharing them.

“And Daniel Drumm,” Stephen pointed out of the previous Sanctum master, and Daisy nodded.

“Yes, I understand it was quite a tragedy for your order,” she acknowledged politely. After an appropriate moment she continued, “Do you mind if I look around for new books to borrow? I’ll understand if you need to check with Wong first,” she added when Stephen hesitated. There was a hint of challenge in her tone, and he almost took the bait and got angry at her suggestion that he needed someone else’s _permission_ —the old him definitely would have—then he relaxed. Daisy raised an eyebrow as if to say she’d known he would pass that test all along.

“Please feel free,” he invited, gesturing at the books. “In fact I also have some research to do here.” He went over to his _Encyclopedia of Magical Beings_ , the definitive work on the subject with twenty-nine volumes currently, and reached for volume D.

“Daisy is a nickname for Margaret,” Daisy informed him as she perused another shelf, and he switched to the first volume for M. “You’ve rearranged these.”

She didn’t sound perturbed. “Yes, there was quite a mess to clean up after the battle,” Stephen replied, flipping through his encyclopedia pages. There were quite a few magic-associated people named Margaret, it turned out; most did not have a full entry here, but rather directed him to the entry that began with their _last_ name. “They’re in order by subject now.”

“Do you have anything about ancient Persia?” Daisy inquired patiently, and Stephen glanced up from the page, wondering which last name was hers, or perhaps she was one of the people who only went by her first name. Like Beyoncé. Or Wong. He had a feeling she had given him all the assistance she was planning to.

“Persia is that corner, row seven, shelf five,” Stephen recalled, picturing the diagram he’d memorized. “Not something I’ve needed lately. Well, ever.” But with Norse gods popping up and destroying parts of New York, you couldn’t really put _any_ ancient belief system to bed these days.

Daisy nodded and went off. Stephen floated other volumes of the encyclopedia off the shelves and had them flip to Clitherow, Margaret; Menediki, Margaret; Turner, Margaret. He skimmed the entries quickly, wishing someone would digitize _this_ monster. None seemed to be her.

Was she Margaret of Antioch, Margaret of Modena, Margaret of Nubia? He didn’t want to assume an Africa connection; she could be from anywhere these days. Margaret was just, historically, a rather common name. And as much as this encyclopedia liked to _believe_ it was complete, the editors always managed to find more magical beings to add every year. Perhaps they just hadn’t gotten around to her yet.

Then his eyes fell on one of the many ‘just Margaret’ entries, which read, _Margaret. See Oracle, The._ Stephen began to tingle slightly, as if his subconscious brain had connected the dots before his conscious mind could catch up, a feeling he used to have regularly when reading patient charts or even in the operating room. Carefully, making sure he didn’t rush and lose his place if he was wrong and had to go back, Stephen left volume M hanging in mid-air and pulled out volume O.

There were many oracles, of course; history was littered with oracles. The Oracle of Delphi, the Oracle of Dodona, the Lima Oracle, the Oracle of the Seas. But there was only one ‘The Oracle.’ And beside the entry was part of a Renaissance-era painting, showing a dark yet angelic face surrounded by a halo of gold leaf. The face was not unlike that of the woman currently in his library, though back in those days painters tended to make angels look like their mistresses, rather than other real people.

The entry itself was short.

_Oracle, The._

_Also known as: Margaret._

_Age: Undetermined, believed pre-Christian._

_Powers: Prognostication, emotional and physical manipulation, flight, healing, possibly more._

_Power Level: Extremely high._

_Temperament: Calm, independent, acquisitive. Seeks knowledge, especially of magic; services may be temporarily purchased with same. Known to associate with both light and dark forces._

_Current location: Unknown_

Current location, New York City, Stephen thought, his mouth going dry as he committed the scant details to memory. He had read about the Oracle in other books from Kamar-Taj’s library, histories of the battles between good and evil. It hadn’t all seemed really relevant to him at the time, but he drew the details up again. Such as they were; there was a reason her encyclopedia entry was so short, followed only by referrals to other pages about said battles.

People remembered the Oracle had been around, on this side or that. But they didn’t remember seeing her _do_ anything, nothing spectacular like the warriors and wizards of old who were immortalized in poems and paintings. People simply calmed down and ceased fighting when she came by. And usually she was just there to whisk someone, like the child prince, away to safety, or prevent some storehouse of knowledge from being looted and burned.

The ancient bards had felt this barely worth mentioning; but more modern scholarship noted that it was _very_ difficult to guarantee the safety of some vulnerable person during a war, or prevent something from being looted and burned. Just because she didn’t set off fireworks all the time didn’t mean she wasn’t powerful. And, her tendency to perform these tasks while in the employ of the villain—once a cause of great distress among moralizing historians—were increasingly seen as humanitarian gestures amid the brutality of war.

Daisy popped up before him, cradling some scrolls. “Do you mind if I borrow these? I can have them digitized and bound, though of course there might be embedded magic—“ She stopped when she saw Stephen gaping at her, as he tried _not_ to gape.

“I predict you’ll say yes,” she deadpanned, and walked away. “That was a joke, Dr. Strange,” she called back, and he peeked around the end of the aisle to see her set the scrolls down on another table, where she was apparently collecting her choices.

Stephen had met powerful figures. The Ancient One, of course, and he’d _defeated_ Dormammu, and there was a whole list of other beings who would have seemed _really_ impressive just yesterday. But today, he had met the Oracle.

He was not disappointed with her. Sometimes imprudent kings and emperors recorded that they were, that they expected drama and flair and glitz, but Stephen wasn’t fooled. The very richest people often wore ordinary clothes, and the most deeply confident didn’t brag. They didn’t feel the need to show off.

“So, you’re the Oracle, huh,” he said casually, approaching her in the section about American Halloween traditions. She was leafing through a book about folk crafts, such as pumpkin carving and corn dolls.

Her glance seemed to confirm this. “I have an apartment uptown, overlooking the park,” she informed him. “With a greenhouse for my plants, and a pocket universe for my library. Perhaps you could come over some time, for a browse.”

Stephen had the feeling she had not made this offer to his predecessor, and it intrigued him. Automatically—perhaps prematurely—his mind went to Christine, wondering where they stood right now. “Perhaps,” he repeated, feeling inane, not something he was used to around women. Or anyone, really, except his teachers at Kamar-Taj. “I’m surprised I have anything you want. In the library,” he added, hoping she didn’t notice the pause.

“Oh, I think you have a lot that I want, Dr. Strange,” Daisy replied, and for some reason—just random neurons firing, really—Stephen recalled a flash of despair and pain, from his literally endless battle with Dormammu. Then Daisy smoothly turned away to the Salem witch trials shelf. “Not many people collect the traditions of the Americas, especially the more recent ones,” she went on. “Not considered powerful enough, I suppose. But they are in the roots and soil of this country, its bones and blood. Not something one should ignore.” She picked up a volume about recent holy figure sightings, like the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast, which Stephen had bought for a quarter at the public library book sale.

“Where do you get your copies made?” he wanted to know, trying to think of some conversation that would keep her interested. Although perhaps she just preferred to be left alone with the books. “I was always told ancient knowledge resists new technology.” Hence why you couldn’t simply scan or photograph ancient books of magic—you were likely to fry your electronics doing so.

“It’s tedious,” Daisy admitted. “I have my assistants use mirrors, or a camera obscura, to get images. Then they just have to type it all up by hand. Kinko’s does the printing and binding,” she added dryly. “But I think knowledge should be preserved, and shared. In a responsible manner.”

Stephen couldn’t help remembering how Kaecilius had thirsted for knowledge he wasn’t ready for, for power he didn’t know how to wield. Though Daisy had been around a long time, and so far she hadn’t tried to take over the world, that he was aware of. Though possibly with her, you would never even notice.

“Where were you?” Stephen asked suddenly. The memory of Dormammu had rattled him more than he wanted to admit. “During the battles here in New York, or Hong Kong?” Daisy gazed at him, as if knowing he had more to say, and he plunged ahead, feeling slightly reckless. “We could have used your help. Preventing the end of the world.”

“The world is frequently on the verge of ending, and yet it never has,” she mused in response, philosophical rather than flip. This was not what Stephen considered an adequate reply. “For that particular conflict,” she continued more concretely, “the Ancient One asked me to stay out of it.”

“Stay out of it?” Stephen repeated, following her around the corner to his collection of books about geoglyphs in the New World. “The Ancient One didn’t want your help?” The situation had seemed pretty desperate to _him_ —some big clods like the Avengers would probably have messed everything up, but Daisy was someone who knew about the finesse and subtlety of so-called magic.

“We had a contract,” Daisy informed him. “I’m sure Wong can find a copy for you. I always get a contract for a major agreement like that.”

Stephen believed that. She struck him as the type to take an agreement very literally, if she so desired. “But _why_ didn’t she want your help?”

“She couldn’t afford my help,” Daisy stated simply. “She just asked for my non-interference. I was acquainted with Kaecilius some time ago,” she added, her tone significant. “Bad boys are so much more fun.” She plucked up a book on Aztec human sacrifice. “Is this new?”

Stephen had been known, perhaps not as a ‘bad’ boy but definitely as a ‘difficult’ one, in his time, so he understood the appeal of someone besides a squeaky-clean, square-jawed hero. But there was confidently, even arrogantly, charming—and then there was power-mad, world-ending. “Surely Dormammu bringing Earth into the Dark Dimension would be a _little_ disadvantageous to you!” He tried to be mindful of who he was speaking to, but wasn’t sure he succeeded.

Daisy pinned him with a look, and suddenly he was back on that surreal planetoid, bargaining with Dormammu, feeling every cold slice of the cosmic shards cutting through him, every moment his heart stopped telling him this was the end, over and over and over again. “You harbor some very deep feelings, Dr. Strange,” she finally said, and her voice was like a warm, gentle breeze washing over him, pulling him back towards the sunlight and the present. Earth had not fallen, not this time, and there was much to enjoy in the world.

_Emotional manipulation_ , the encyclopedia had said, and Stephen blinked at her, grounding himself with a deep breath. The effect was more powerful than he would have imagined, yet more subtle and natural. It did not feel like the work of a villain to him—more like someone who preferred to operate independently, without telegraphing her every move. Perhaps she’d had a backup plan of her own, in case Stephen and his colleagues had failed to turn back Dormammu—perhaps she could just snap her fingers and send cosmic beings running. It was a nice thought, anyway.

“Do you mind if I borrow these?” Daisy asked once again, hefting an impossibly large stack with ease. “Of course if you need one in the meantime, just let me know and I’ll send it right back.”

“Of course,” Stephen replied. “Can we go over the other new books you brought? Wong will have a fit that I got to see them first.” Not the most noble motivation, but it seemed to amuse Daisy, and that was a start.


End file.
